


Comics

by TaraRhyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Flirting, Childhood Trauma, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drama & Romance, Drunken Flirting, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Harry is scared of Romilda, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Harry, Pining Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Psychological Trauma, Teen Crush, Tom won't stop penning poetry, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, comic books, coping mechanisms are fake news, feeling especially depressed this year, so here is some, to be fair: she's intense, we all need some warmth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraRhyme/pseuds/TaraRhyme
Summary: Winter break has seized Hogwarts with sickeningly inescapable Christmas cheer. Meanwhile, Gryffindor student Harry Potter is tormenting a Slytherin Prefect...Or at least it feels that way to Tom Riddle. Sure they've become close, even traded shabby Christmas gifts in years past as the two most consistent inhabitants of the Hogwarts Christmas break. But he hates how  Harry Potter doesn't see Tom's worth. See, Tom's developed a bit of an affection- for the curve of his lip and the furrow of his brow and... ehm. Anyways. Harry Potter doesn't date. It's well known, Tom's been no exception despite his blatant flirting.And now their relationship first forged by the holidays has been violated by an unexpected enemy: Romilda Vane. The year that Tom had finally decided to live in painful silence about his affection for Harry Potter and drop the flirting, she just had to worm in. Tom realises he can't have that- certainly she can't have Harry if he can't. She tried to drug him, for Christ's sake! He has to stop her, and try not to act like a completely controlling ass at the same time.This is how Harry Potter has the weirdest Christmas break of all his life. Also contends as the best.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Romilda Vane, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 34
Kudos: 150





	1. she stokes a competitive nature

**Author's Note:**

> Happy hols

And yes, the wind was bitterly cold as he'd thought. Harry was already regretting not wrapping that scarf around his throat, the one that had been dangling off the edge of his trunk.

But he was already late- and wasn't that a bad habit- to the Quidditch Pitch, where a surprising new companion was joining him. 

Harry was very used to being alone. Growing up with the Dursleys had, at the very least, taught him the value of his own company. Hogwarts had helped him connect with brilliant, utterly fantastic friends, sure, but he was always surprised when people looked at _him_ and wanted to know _him_. He wondered if that shock would ever wear off.

One of Harry oldest friends was Tom Riddle, and it was very odd that they would be apart during this time. This time- the winter break- was their time. The two of them were left mostly to their own devices, except second year when Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had stayed in the castle. So it felt unnatural after four Christmases that he would be dedicating this time of year to another. But as it was, he was hurrying to the Quidditch Pitch because a girl in Ginny Weasley's year, the year below, had asked him to. 

Her name was Romilda Vane and Harry had to admit she had a very pretty face framed by very pretty hair. While Harry had been here each year for the winter hols, he'd never been talked to by the other Gryffindors that stayed. He supposed that was likely because of year-difference. So when Romilda Vane had struck up a conversation by the fireplace, he'd been pleasantly surprised that she even took notice of him. Maybe she knew him from Quidditch.

She seemed very nice, and Harry _did_ recall she'd gotten him chocolates last year for some reason or another. Harry didn't eat chocolate however, and always pawned it off on to Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Tom. Tom especially because he really liked chocolates.

"Harry!" She waved excitedly from the locker rooms stationed outside the pitch. "Oh dear, you really should've worn a scarf." She clucked sympathetically. 

"Definitely should've," he said, eyeing her wooly one with envy. Once in the air though, he'd wrap himself in a temporary warming charm. He wasn't rushing to get anywhere now. 

"I'm very happy you wanted to play," she was saying. "I've never spent the holidays without my family. And I thought we could get to know each other better- Ginny's talked a lot about you though so I suppose I feel connected already." Harry flushed and laughed nervously. Ginny famously had a crush on Harry when she first started Hogwarts. Harry reassured her now that he didn't mind, and found it sweet if anything. Not like anyone else had ever fancied him in that way. He likely wouldn't have even noticed her obsession if not for the singing troll poem. That was... very clear.

"Ginny's a good friend now," he protested.

"Nah, she's great," Romilda easily agreed. "Let's play?"

* * *

Tom was a late riser. Always had been, notoriously so.

But it was the holidays. A time he'd once resented and yet was now securing itself as his favourite season, all due to a certain good friend. So it was nothing out the ordinary when he dragged himself up to the Great Hall from the Slytherin dormitories somewhere near to eleven o'clock. He could attribute it to the holiday mood as an excuse, and Harry would join him at late breakfast, teasing him about his nocturnal life.

This morning, while the wind whipped up a frenzy outside, Tom sat alone. Harry was late, it seemed, or maybe he'd been early to eat. Tom had never waited so long for Harry to come down from the Tower.

 _Is he upset with me?_ Is Tom's first thought. His second; _does he know?_ Be still my beating heart- for Harry would've confronted him if that were the case. Harry was good at confrontation, and Tom was good at overthinking. It was likely nothing important at all.

All the same, Tom ate slowly and considerately. He spent an inordinate amount of time on the third page of the Daily Prophet- carefully digesting each paragraph on the newest cauldron thickness regulations. There'd been a scandal recently with a Belgian cauldron company and unreliable shipments. The very reason he'd reread Pious Haversmith's thoughts on the matter about six times stumbled into the hall looking worse for the wear.

Sure enough, Harry had come to eat with Tom as they always did. Just exceptionally late. It was worth the wait though, and the dull newspaper. While having routine and dedicating time was very important to the older boy, Harry on the other hand was famous for being late. Tom had been overreacting- but still midday was weird for Harry who only ate so late anyways because Tom liked it. So while he was glad to see his friend- and technically they hadn't set an exact time- Tom still felt unreasonably offended. He was happier when Harry noticed that.

"You're looking peachy. Juice gone bad?"

"Matching the weather," he breezily answered. "You've been out, went for a fly or what?" His skin was red, flushed, and his hair was defying gravity. Tom hoped he'd been flying, otherwise that pit in his stomach would open up and swallow him whole.

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing his shoulder. Tom relaxed minutely. "Romilda's not half bad. She'd make a good Beater. She certainly beat me!" He laughed deprecatingly. Tom's head was short circuiting as a girl appeared from behind Harry's slender frame, hair tousled and face rosy as his.

"Tom Riddle-oh, you're a Slytherin Prefect, aren't you?" She asked with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yeah," Harry sat himself down and answered for her. "Tom'll be Head Boy though, just you see. Think Sluggie's in love with him." Aforementioned Prefect still hadn't said _anything_ and was still _looking at the girl_ and he needed to _speak_ , otherwise he knew that it would get awkward soon.

Wait- wait a damn minute-

"Romilda Vane?" His voice was uncharacteristically high.

"Yes!" She smiled bashfully, and then slide in next to Harry, that little worm.

"Oh right, you know... I've had your chocolates," he added more evenly. She bit the inside of her cheek and Tom raised an eyebrow. "Harry's chocolates I suppose, but everyone who knows Harry knows he hates chocolate."

"Ah no, Romilda- it's not like I go shouting it from the rooftops. You couldn't have known," Harry offered.

"I bet she wondered though," Tom said through tight lips. Harry frowned at that. He wasn't able to follow their insinuations anymore.

Tom meant that she had probably wondered why Harry didn't fall in love with her after last Valentine's. Because Tom knew that this girl was the reason he had been dragged to Professor Slughorn at the midnight hour, then ending with him not telling Harry out of shame. After a warming glass of mead and sputtering apologies, he was sent off with a message to be more careful about persistent 'suitors'. He'd very angrily been sure to check who'd given him that box, and had had no clue who Romilda Vane was. He also noticed it was addressed to _Harry_ , who was often throwing chocolate at Tom. For some reason people thought he wanted chocolates, and Harry refused to confess he'd rather eat spinach. Tom didn't care, he got the benefits from the admirers of the Gryffindor seeker, and they never got Harry like he did. Which granted wasn't _exactly_ how he wanted to have Harry, but he was digressing.

That time however... he remembered. He'd warned Harry to keep an eye on his food and drink from then on. Harry listened to stuff like that. Tom wasn't much of a jokester. And Love Potions weren't a joke, but accusing someone outright was a shitshow. And since Harry'd been fine, and Tom could defend himself, he'd decided to let it stew. It'd been humiliating enough with Malfoy knowing.

Now the little worm, Romilda drug-your-man Vane, was sitting with them? He had to tell Harry the full story if she hadn't already drugged him up. In that case, it was straight to the Hospital Wing. He seemed alright...

* * *

Harry was not surprised to see Tom still in the Great Hall near to noon, eating breakfast. He tended to forego lunch entirely during break, choosing instead lots of sleep and a breakfast/dinner sort of schedule. They usually ate their meals together and then absconded to a common room or squirrelled away to the library. Madam Pince, like most people, had a soft spot for Tom Riddle. Today Harry was later than usual, sure, but he's brought a new friend with.

Romilda had been a formidable flier and he was almost upset she'd never tried out for the team- she had a very aggressive tactic that the twins would sorely enjoy.

Tom seemed rather fitful, his face twitchy. Harry had no idea what could've put him in a funk when he'd had a good sleep in, just like he likes. He wondered if Romilda and him would get on- Tom was a polite, if distant, sort of guy. Harry and him only got close after the accident.

After some warm slices of toast and jam, Harry had Tom pass him the orange pitcher.

"I bet she wondered though," Tom said darkly about the chocolates. Harry was rather embarrassed he'd brought it up at all- it was last year already. "Harry, I've got that new, gift, from the twins. Fred said that he wants you to review it too- mostly to bother Ron I'd think."

"Oh the powder, right... thought that was more, experimental?" Harry felt a sneaking suspicion. He bit his lip. "Tom, have you still been helping them?"

"Help is a strong word," Tom rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. "But business is opportunity. I am not one for squandering, and I've never hated an experiment."

"Ah. You know Hermione says you're incorrigible," he snorted.

"Not a bad way to be," the frowning had left Tom's face entirely now, "you should try it out."

"We needn't have lunch, now it's so late," came a voice from Harry's side. He completely forgotten Romilda was still there, and winced. Tom was very easy to focus in on, like the world tunnelled around him. Even as they spoke Harry was looking at his carved cheeks and Cupid's bow, which was low, sharp. Again, he was doing it as Romilda kept talking. "...so we could just head down again, if you wanted."

"Quidditch," he said unintelligently. She was probably talking about that.

"Perfect," she purred.

"He hasn't agreed," Tom sounded snide. He was a very exact sort of person, Harry guessed that was why he was quick to jump and correct her.

"I think Harry'd love another go, oh this time could we try with charmed Bludgers?" She wheedled looking terribly wanting. Harry actually listened this time and thought that sounded wonderful. It must've shown to Tom. His friend could read him well as the folded paper beside his plate.

"I see," he said stiffly. "If you'd rather." Harry knew it was the first day of break- _their_ break, really- but it was only one day. Tom was reasonable, patient, and far more level headed than Harry, and after today it would be the same as they always did over break. It was just nice to get to know someone who wanted to really get to know him. And, well, fly.

"Harry? What'd you say then?" She grabbed his wrist and her eyes looked very large. "Tom, oh, you're not.. coming, are you?" Romilda was looking at him now. The air was charged with a certain tension Harry had not noticed... would not notice. Wasn't his area of expertise. Harry replied with a shrug that didn't remove her hand from his wrist.

"Er, love to. No, Tom can't-" Tom started at that, "-well you can't, Tom." Harry gave him a look that said, sorry, but you _hate flying_. When he stood up, Tom said rushedly:

"I just could grab-"

"But I'll catch you later?" They spoke at the same time. Harry was incredulous but sure he'd misunderstood. Was Tom offering to come to the pitch? Couldn't be.

* * *

"I- sure. I'll see you later, then." Tom let him go. He knew that Harry loved to fly on those manmade, completely untrustworthy broomsticks. And he didn't seem to want Tom tagging along. Harry flashed his lopsided smile, the one Tom coveted so very much-

"Cheers, Tom!" -and was gone. He deflated like all the air had whooshed out of his lungs.

"I'm doomed," Tom whispered pathetically into the shifting tablecloth. A pig was flying across the hem. "I'm doomed but that's not new, and Romilda Vane's not getting a damn thing out him." The pig was replaced by a meandering cow that was followed by what might have been a Kneazle. 

_Harry may not want him_ , _but if he thought he wanted Romilda he clearly doesn't know what's good for him_ _. For example, Tom would never drug a partner into consensus._

For the first time in his fifteen- nearly sixteen- years of life, Tom Riddle was going to save someone.

Which had nothing to do- of course not- with his fat, massive crush on Harry. The one that he was totally going to give up on this year.

Totally irrelevant.


	2. how alcohol trumps any angers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me too long to get this up- I think because I simultaneously wanted to split the chapter and make this a 5 part story for a neater look, but also wanted to just split it where I split it. I hope it's alright, it's way more than the first chap, I accidentally over 7500 words! I'm sorry xx, the boys are b*tchy and talk a lot- it was out of my control
> 
> Happy hols to all

Needless to say, he had to find out where to start.

He knew everything from Harry's favourite lolly to his childhood fantasy of being a muggle Filmstar- but he knew nothing of his romantic tastes. As far as anyone knew, there wasn't anything to know in the first place.

Yet seeing him humour that girl, who didn't know him at all, rankled Tom. It was especially rankling because he knew what intentions she harboured.

Tom sat in an unused chamber on the third floor almost directly above the charms classroom. He couldn't bother holing away in the common rooms with four other Slytherins staying this year. Even the off chance of them being there was too off-putting.

Not when he needed to pace and think.

What was her plan? Was she romancing him or plotting to drug him with love potion? If the love potion then she'd have to have learned something of what Harry likes, and there is only one sweet he treasures- a memento of a very special day. She couldn't know.

But now, with her getting close, maybe she'd sneak a vial into something like a drink of Harry's. Luckily no such thing could happen at meals, not at Hogwarts. But in the privacy of the Tower...

Either way it was unacceptable. She had to go. First, Tom would have to evaluate her repertoire- more plainly said he needed to rummage through her things.

So operation _Stopping Romilda_ _Vane_ , was a brilliant plot before it started.

It was a barely-escaped mess when it was over.

The first part was an enormous success: he'd made sure that she and Harry were still down on the pitch and made his way to Gryffindor Tower without any questions, only a near miss from writhing tinsel and what Tom suspected to be Peeves.

He knew the password, Harry kept him in the know and Tom likewise about Slytherin. It felt very connecting during the holidays. Afterwards and before, they'd maintain the privacy of their common rooms' passwords.

"Bananarama," he said confidently to the Fat Lady, who was squinting suspiciously at his robes.

"Hmph." She swung open.

And although the girls' rooms were better warded than the boys', for Tom, star pupil and vicious snoop, it wasn't very long until he'd barged his way into the fourth year's girls' dormitory.

Locating Romilda Vane's bed was based purely off elimination games- the other twenty one girls in her dorm didn't have curly _and_ black hair, so yes, Tom went through their personal effects and tested the hair against the bit he'd severed off during the midday breakfast. She hadn't even noticed.

Ah! Her trunk was miraculously unlocked- likely a bit of freedom she had granted herself with everyone else in Gryffindor Tower, besides Harry, home for the holidays.

Shifting through her unfolded robes and crumpled underthings, he made out with a promising wooden box. Small and locked with a light warding spell, the Repelling Charm. With easy work shaking off the spelled urge to leave the box alone, he was treated with all the evidence he needed that Romilda Vane was simply no good.

Tom was never one for doubts, but it would've been infuriating if he'd been, _off_ , in his guess that she would attempt to drug Harry again. Either way, he couldn't see her being a good fit for Harry if she'd dared to try to drug him once.

Inside was a small phial, clear and empty, but when Tom popped the cork the faint wafting scent of wet rock, tangerine, and something minty that shouldn't have made sense, but did, drew him in.

This was no ordinary love potion, no one day fiasco. This was Amortentia, and Tom had to struggle to re-cork the phial.

Underneath it was an envelope, just like the ones Tom had in his trunk, though he didn't often make use of them. Unsealing the letter was the most horrifying discovery he'd made thus far.

It couldn't be. She couldn't have. She _wouldn't_ have.

His hand almost shook as he reread the words he himself had written mere months ago, for Halloween. By Harry's standards, it was the worst time of year, like New Years was for Tom. Harry had made the holidays more than bearable, and since that first year together he'd took it upon himself to do the same for Harry.

Harry wanted to be alone on Halloweens- so Tom wrote for him, as he loved to do, and sent along a reminder of their friendship in the shape of a maple-bacon lolly. Harry's very favourite. He would shyly thank Tom, afterwards, and it warmed him from inside out.

This year... it hadn't reached Harry. It had nearly caused a falling out from the misunderstanding, and Tom was raging for weeks about the incompetence of school owls.

She... intercepted it? She knew that Tom was close to Harry, and likely she'd been trying to get things out of that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as well. The two of them likely brushed it off- this was why Tom sometimes regretted he didn't make more of an effort with Harry's friends. He would seen her snooping for what it is- she was planning, properly.

And so she'd likely been staking Tom out- and when he sent a _letter_ as he seldom did- _she dared to steal it_. It was almost ballsy and a perfect indicator of her House.

But Tom was berating himself too, he hadn't been resilient enough. Hadn't thought his missing mail was malicious, only the result of faulty old birds. Now she had upped her game to Amortentia, and was giving herself the alibi of Christmas break to secure a relationship with Harry...

He muttered nearly silently " _Geminio!_ " in quick succession, and stuffed the extra copies in his robes. It was well timed because the distinct sound of feet clunked up the stairwell outside the dormitory door.

Then things started to go south, and would continue to go south well into the night. But the real mess wouldn't begin until tomorrow... although Tom didn't know that.

He was not quick enough to do anything but stand with dignity as those telling footsteps opened the door to the Gryffindor fourth year girls' dormitory. Instantly Romilda Vane's face transformed into something very ugly indeed.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" She spat. "Rooting through my things!" She saw the letter in his hand, and with a surprising amount of mental capacity realised just what Tom had found.

"Back at it again, Romilda?" She stomped forward and snatched the duplicated version from his hand. The original, and a few copies to distinguish its legitimacy, were safe in his pockets.

"Riddle you're pathetic!" She snarled. Her hand was shaking as it gripped Tom's innocuous letter, private and a longstanding ode to Harry's parents for Harry's sake. The absolute female dog. "It was a dare alright- just a joke really- and nothing happened! I'm not-" Tom cut her off and watched her pale until she resembled paper. He had removed the lolly from behind his back and presented it with the satisfaction of a cat who'd caught the canary.

"Harry loves lollies," he confessed. It was perfectly rewrapped too. "But he's a secretive one, I'll give you that. He'd never announce anything that he cherishes."

"It's not... I'm not..." Romilda looked weak. "So what? I thought you were here about the chocolates... I... the mail was a stupid thing to do I know. I was just messing with you, I knew you had your cronies watching me." Because, Tom thought with irritation, you're a druggist.

"Good detective work," Tom praised. "All that dedication, just to try and screw him over again. I do appreciate this evidence, which I was surprised at the audacity of you having kept it. Stupid. But this lollipop- it is very important, isn't it? You've had it prepped and ready to go for, what, almost two months?" He raised an eyebrow and leaned in conspiratorially. "You certainly planned better, this time. It was my own recklessness that brought us here I suppose. After all, it was from me that you discovered even a smidgen of Harry's tastes, so careless of me. I had taunted you in the face of your failures last time too obviously- and you adapted you clever girl." All hints of fake amicabilty left his face.

"You invaded our relationship. His privacy. To adapt your plans you've been the cause of my mail interception on Halloween. Why, here it is. So you set up a thorough coverup of how you'd gotten together with Harry- Christmas break- and gotten Harry the exact sort of gift I, his closest friend would." Tom sneered. "He would've been so touched that you'd figured out such a small detail about him- wouldn't have known how you maliciously coated it in Amortentia- _much_ higher grade stuff than last time, hm? So you laid in wait, warmed him up, but you didn't count on me."

"What relationship?" Romilda said, bewildered. "He doesn't want you, Riddle. It's obvious how you monopolise his every look, attention. You hated Ginny Weasley so much that Professor McGonagall asked her if she'd done something to warrant it. You're as pathetic as me but I actually had the guts to-"

"To what?" He felt horrified to be compared to her. " _Drug_ him? He willingly has dedicated time to me, what do you have _you worm_?" She seemed to recall his duelling prowess, his award for Magical Merit, alongside his terrifying expression, and shrunk.

"Don't," she gathered her remaining courage, remembered what position she was in, and begged. "Please don't do this- I could be expelled-"

"Karma," Tom hissed. "And I rather think you'll be dragged off to court for this with such... overwhelming evidences."

"I'll do anything, Riddle please!"

"That much is clear." Tom plucked the letter back and she lunged after it again with sweaty palms. "Oh, you can keep it if you like. I've got copies. Or I could write it from memory." Her eyes darted back and forth, unsure of how to process all that had happened in such a short time. "This is it, Romilda. Time's up." He got up to leave but turned for a final word.

"Stay away from Harry Potter."

* * *

Harry was having a decent day, honestly. He was fully unaware of any scheming, plotting, or potential maiming. He'd spent his morning flying and then again his afternoon in the air. With O.W.L's this year, he could take all the relaxation he could get.

Hermione was already hounding him and Ron, and on the other hand Neville was too meek to complain. Tom had never pressured Harry to study, but that was likely because Tom liked to maintain that he himself didn't. That had to be bullshit- he was top of their year by leaps and bounds and it infuriated Hermione to no end that he'd even imply it was the result of no effort. Tom was 'completely incorrigible, a bad influence, and a worse example!' according to Harry's best girl friend. She would then follow it up with ' _oh it's not **your** fault Harry' or 'Harry I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude- as you're friends with **him** for some unimaginable reason'. _It really was all in good humour, Hermione really didn't mind Tom when it wasn't exam season.

But with O.W.L's... she'd started early. Harry was stressed.

Romilda helped with that, so she was pretty cool in Harry's books.

Walking back with Romilda, they split ways at the dormitory stairwells to clean up. He was splashing water onto his face in the fifth year's boys' bathrooms around the time Tom Riddle absconded with his evidence, leaving a shook Romilda behind.

He didn't know that just yet.

When he came down again to the common room he saw his new fly buddy sat on the sofa. She actually looked to be trying to sink as deep into it as possible.

"Alright there?" He called as he walked over. Romilda jolted up, looking distinctly guilty.

"Harry!" She said, and stopped there.

"Is everything good?" he asked. "You were okay before..."

"Oh it's nothing," she answered hurriedly. "really nothing. Come sit with me?" He did, and she scooted closer, her arm and leg touching his, almost pressing. He frowned and looked at her.

"Sorry, could you just-" but he couldn't get the request for space fully formed. She lunged forward and gripped a hand behind the back of his head. Warm lips melded to his, tasting of cherry. He jerked back and she let his lips be, but didn't let go of his head.

"Romilda, I-" He flushed. "I don't really want to, erm, do anything like this-" She pushed forward again, another hand holding his leg in what he thought was meant to be a comforting gesture, but achieved the opposite.

"What are you doing?!" He pushed her back, carefully avoiding her chest as not to be creepy or encourage this behaviour more.

"Come on, Harry," she said, sounding rather angry now. Maybe a little desperate. "Haven't you ever wanted to get off with someone? Merlin! Let me-"

"No," Harry said firmly. "Don't you ever, touch me again. Not like that, and it's because I said no." She was definitely looking angry. And like the brave Gryffindor he was, he fled. Without even thinking he'd gone straight to the Slytherin common rooms. It didn't matter if Tom was there, he just needed to be out of _her_ reach.

As fate had it, Tom was there, humming to himself by the study desks. Harry admired his shoulders from behind.

"Romilda just tried to kiss me," Harry blurted out, unable to hold it back. Tom slowly turned around, his face flitting with emotions too quick for Harry to catch but he settled on one when he spoke.

"She-" His anger looked physical, coiling around him. "She tried to..." He couldn't seem to make himself say it. Harry felt embarrassed he'd said anything to Tom, but the anger was almost soothing. His insides fluttered at the attention, the anger on his behalf flattering. "Did she?" Tom's voice sounded strangled, and most funnily- his nose was flared with his upset.

If Harry himself wasn't so shook by the urgency of those events, he would've found Tom's complete rejection at the very _idea_ of someone kissing Harry a bit annoying. Harry was his own person and also perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But as it was, he was shocked at her insistence and he hadn't wanted to kiss her in the first place. That she would disregard his words so easily, was disturbing. He needed to share it with someone, and it felt good that Tom was on his side without any context.

"Oh," Tom snarled. "Why, I shouldn't be surprised- she's too brash and now that her time's up she was desperate to try and get you. If anything, just to avoid persecution." Tom looked down his nose crossly. "She'd likely hoped you'd protect her when it came out that she's an attempted rapist."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said slowly. Romilda hadn't done anything more than try to kiss him- a bit forcefully- but that wasn't rape, it wasn't like... no, it wasn't.

* * *

"Last Valentine's, with the chocolates," Tom said impatiently. "I myself suffered a humiliation for her misdeeds. Slughorn found it quite amusing and it wasn't even Amortentia, but this time- this time she's got Amortentia coated on your favourite lolly, the ones I give you." Tom felt miserable but he had to confess his oversight, otherwise what proof would he have that she'd know Harry's favourite sweet. "She had stolen your Halloween note as well, so the plotting's been in place for at least that long."

"This happened last year?" Harry had an inscrutable look at his face. That was fairly rare, and never boded well. But Tom's confidence and self-righteousness let him brush it aside. "You didn't- you didn't tell me? _Think_ to tell me? She's _tried to drug me_?"

"I warned you-"

"I'd thought you meant pranks! Or something rash that Draco'd thought up! Not the magical equivalent of date rape-"

"Nothing would have happened," Tom soothed. Harry wasn't understanding correctly, wasn't putting his faith in Tom, as he should. "I wouldn't have let it."

"You can't," Harry rubbed his head as if in pain. "know that. You may have thought it was blown over but clearly this is just another one of your opportunist control things-"

"Nothing happened." Tom stressed again. "I was fine, of course, and I had some measures in place."

"Yet here we are!" Harry exclaimed. "You're here telling me that she's doing it again, and why do I feel like it's not out of a sudden desire to keep me in the loop about _my own damn life_."

"I was unsure If she'd be stupid enough to try a love potion again." He crinkled his nose in disgust. "She was. But in the case her plot's become more insidious- mayhap to woo you more traditionally- then you should know what sort you're dealing with before being ensnared. Don't let her touch you."

" _Ensnared_?" Harry sputtered. "I barely know her! And great, I get to know the truth when it suits you and when _you_ think it's necessary. God, this is so like you Tom!" The mention of muggle religion fanned the flames of their frustration, as there was nothing Tom hated more than the church. It didn't matter if Harry had only forgotten, or had said it intentionally, the damage was done.

His voice was as dangerous as the look on his face. "And what am I like? So much more despicable than that halfwit rapist, I'd wager-"

"Don't put words in my mouth!"

"Do you prefer her company then?"

"How did we get here," Harry said with his mouth slightly ajar. "and why am I a bad guy now? You kept me in the dark, and do as you please with no regard to what I'd want, and frankly I'd want to know something like this, Tom."

"I didn't have sufficient evidence besides the chocolates box and-"

"I'm not talking about- about- arresting her! That's a foregone conclusion now if it's true... I'm talking about you just telling me about things that involve me, is that so hard?"

"I... see what you mean. All's well that ends well. It's over now, Harry," he placates. He let the 'if it's true' comment slide, and tried not to bristle. Likely, Harry was just being too fair and decent. He liked giving people a fighting chance.

"Yeah, I suppose it is." Tom suppresses a smile at the first clear agreement in the whole conversation. Harry's gaze defocused, clearly thinking.

"I agree it's wrong she planned this, and executed it once. Now again? It's vile and frightening to think of doing that to anyone, let alone twice."

"Revolting and despicable," he agrees. "But I wouldn't have allowed anything to happen to you," he assures him.

"Tom, you can't possibly control all outcomes," he said almost playfully. They were getting back into a more friendly, normal state. "I'll go talk to her now, if you don't mind. I think you've told me everything- you have, haven't you?"

"What?" His stomach dropped and his mouth felt dry.

"What'd you mean, what?" Harry asked.

"You need to talk with her for what, exactly? She's vile. She tried to-" Tom swallowed. " _kiss you_ even without the potion. She could try again- you need to stay away from her... you could stay in Slytherin until I feel the Headmaster has taken appropriate action on this."

"Alright, Tom," Harry said tiredly. Tom was instantly suspicious because he was far too agreeable, but also too arrogant to think more about it. Of course Harry would agree with him, he was right, and he knew what needed to be done. "Let me get some things first."

* * *

Who exactly Tom thought he was, was beyond Harry. He'd lied and hid from Harry _fairly important shit_ and expected his word to be followed like law.

His need for control and utter faith in himself were some of his worst qualities, Harry thought angrily. He likely even thought control was warranted to him. He had provided no evidence- but why would Tom lie- but then again, Tom was acting odd at breakfast.

Then a thought came to Harry from that little voice in his head, one he latched onto almost wantonly.

Was Tom jealous?

It didn't mean that Romilda wasn't secretly trying to drug him, but Tom had also insinuating that she simply was trying to 'woo him'. And Tom had said that was equally unacceptable.

Harry knew what he needed to do, even if Tom in all his controlling habits didn't want him to. He needed to talk to Romilda Vane. He had a right to know, in any case, what Tom had only deigned to tell him when it suited him.

Turns out Tom was right. And it left a dark, festering hole in his stomach when she stuttered over apologies.

"Come on," he tiredly rubbing his forehead. "Let's tell Tom that you'll testify, to keep him in the loop so he doesn't go berserk. He gets caught up in his own head. He'll be mad enough I confronted you." She laughed nervously.

Bringing her to the Slytherin common room, in hindsight, hadn't been the brightest idea. It was luck that the other inhabitants were not there when it happened. Harry was ill, and shocked, at how the next events played out. It was completely irrational.

* * *

"Afternoon, Riddle," Romilda drug-your-man Vane said to him. She smiled hesitantly from Harry's side.

From... Harry's... side...

"What's going on? What is she doing with you?" Tom felt as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath his feet. Today had been a whirlwind, and there was Harry- giving him a look he didn't like, one that asked him to be good. Harry didn't _listen_ to him- or worse didn't care- because she was _with him-_ did he think Tom was an _idiot_ or just a _liar_ then? Or did she do something to him- _kiss him_ -

Tom's arm snapped up with his wand, eyes wild and teeth bared. She did not draw her wand but Tom didn't think about it any further.

" _Lacerant succensus!_ " She didn't even move a step- she just took it, and dropped with a scream- the heat of the curse ripped through her skin- Tom could make it stronger if he liked-

Tom had never felt better in his whole life. It was like Billy Stubbs' rabbit he'd hung from the rafters. It was like stealing from Ms. Cole. It was as good a feeling as the fantasies he would live out in his head of...

It was a rush, and he twitched his wand to cast something else- something better- he _really wanted her to scream he almost couldn't stop_

He didn't notice when Harry disarmed him, only staring with a pleased expression at the sluggishly bleeding and burnt girl some feet in front of them. The wand didn't matter anymore, he thought to himself. She'd paid for her misdeeds.

But a nagging voice in the back of his head says he should've pushed more... more intent... finish it...

"What the hell," Harry's voice was hoarse, "were you thinking?" He'd moved again, this time back to her, he was kneeling by her!

"Stay away," Tom hissed. "Don't touch her!"

"Don't you dare!" Harry shouted. Tom stumbled back. Harry never raised his voice at Tom. "What's wrong with you?" He had his own wand out and was saying breathily then, " _Vulnera Sanentur! Reparifors! Vulnera Sanentur!_ "

The rush was dimming now, and reality was clawing its way back into Tom's head. He wasn't sure he liked it, as cold dread crept up his spine. If she was seriously hurt- she shouldn't be permanently damaged- well maybe some scarring- then he was in big trouble.

She sat up, Harry propping her back as she coughed. Tom nearly asked Harry for his wand back but thought better of it.

"She agreed to testify for a lesser punishment." Harry spoke throatily. "She admitted it. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Well, that's good." Tom breezily said, swallowing his own stupidity.

"No," she rumbled through coughs. "You psycho, I'm not..." She rubbed her stomach, where Harry's quick healing spells had taken away the brunt of the damage. "No way. You... you can't tell." She glared at Tom. "Not anymore."

"Like hell," he spat. "you wrench, you'll pay."

"And you'll be expelled with me," she said just as nastily. "Attacking a student with intent to gravely harm. I didn't even defend myself and you took me down." Tom's eyebrows nearly rose to meet his hairline. Now that, was clever. But she couldn't just get away with this-

"Okay," Harry said, his voice thick. "Alright Vane, just don't tell anyone about... this. And never, ever try the potion shit again. Then I've got full rights to take this to the Headmaster."

"Deal," she coughed.

"Are you," Tom tried to phrase it delicately, "insane?"

"Vane, just go," Harry said. "Go!" He repeated louder when she hesitated.

"No, Tom, I'm not insane! But you might be." Tom watched as the girl slipped out the entrance to _his_ common room.

He could see that maybe, he had acted rashly. But it didn't mean he was wrong. Harry had this sense of right and wrong Tom rarely understood, but he couldn't see how they'd come out worse for the wear. He only wished he could persecute her without his own future being jeopardised.

* * *

"I had acted," Tom swallowed, 'in defence of you. I would do it again, and then a hundred times more. I don't care for disciplinary actions more than you-" Harry was feeling ill. Tom was never this forthright or sincere. And since when did he care about anything more than image? "Harry-" Tom's hand moved so fast- as fast as his legs as he purposefully strode to Harry.

Harry flinched at the beseeching, prodding touch by jerking his arm away completely. He couldn't take Tom touching him recently. To cover it up he said, "You're ruining everything!" Which, granted, was much too vague to do more than panic Tom, and alluded to the greater issue at hand that neither of them were talking about. Tom bit the inside of his cheek, and you could see it because he'd sucked in a really good chunk.

"Harry," he said, utterly uselessly. All those always-perfect words seemed to be jammed up in his perfect frame. But he falteringly reached out again and Harry this time let him gently touch the arm he'd so quickly yanked away, the one still half twisted around his back. Through the wool and the cotton, it burned. "I never meant to- make you mad?" He ended uncertainly.

Harry sighed, all that fighting energy gone. He felt silly too, for doubting Tom Riddle. Of all people, he wouldn't have got it wrong. Tom must feel slighted. That would explain a lot... "I don't know why I didn't listen to you." He couldn't believe he'd chalked it up to Tom being, of all things, jealous that Harry was spending time with another. He felt childish and stupid.

Most of all, he ignored how he kind of wanted it to be true. He wanted Tom Riddle to monopolise his time and everything else... But that's not what he said.

"Tom, you're brilliant but you can't just, you can't do things for me without me even knowing. Without me agreeing. I have my own life and I can take care of myself."

"I know," he said. It didn't sound like he'd really heard Harry though.

"Tom," Harry tried again. "I covered for you. Okay we won't hand her to the authorities- I would do that for you, like you would defend me, right? But I don't want to." Tom frowned. "I don't want to have to lie because you acted- cursed- on my behalf, especially when I didn't want you to."

"I did it for you," Tom said again, frustrated, but it frustrated Harry too.

"No, you didn't," he snapped. "You did it because you wanted to. If you'd thought about it for one second you'd know I wouldn't have wanted that."

"You don't need to defend her-"

"I'm not!" Harry raised his voice. "I'm defending you! Because of something you did for me, selfishly! Don't put me in this position." Tom seemed to hear Harry's words this time.

"I- I won't. I will do my best not to put you in this kind of, situation, again." Harry rubbed the bridge between his nose and eyes. "I-" He couldn't get the words out.

"You don't have to say sorry. I'd think you're crock full of shit, then. I just want you to be better, is all. I know you can be." Tom folded in on himself, sitting down on the nearest armchair.

* * *

He mourned the introductory letter he was drafting for the Headmaster about the allegations, sitting patiently on the further off study desks. He wouldn't need it now.

So, maybe Tom had acted partially out of jealousy and Harry didn't ever need to know that. His fears had been founded anyways!

But the curse... had been overkill. That was his anger, his insecurity really. Though he would never call it such. And now, Harry was so unhappy. He'd never wanted _that_.

"How do we work?" Tom mumbled with his head bowed into his hands. "Look what I do, and you have the gall to be disappointed instead of- oh, anything else!" Tom let his hands drop and his dark eyes peer upwards. Harry still stood there, unmoving. "I've never met anyone who expected something of me. Or if so, certainly nothing good. And I've never been sure if I like it. But here you are-" he wanted to touch Harry again for reassurance but he'd been so flighty recently, " and I can't have you go away. I just need-" He paused. "I need to make sure we work."

Harry shrugged helplessly. And for all his supposed lack of eloquence, he struck at years of internalised hate gurgling within Riddle.

"Well, I know that you're a good man." Tom clenched his stomach muscles habitually, and misses the dozy smile playing on Harry's mouth. "But you like to keep that secret. You just make.. mistakes, you know?"

"No," He intoned. His voice was rough and didn't suit him at all. "You can't say that Harry!"

"Why not Tom?"

"Well," he mouthed helplessly, gesturing vaguely about. "I'm not a- and you'll go then- I can't be what you expect, Harry-"

"You're fine the way you are," Harry said, dropping into a crouch in front of the armchair, so Tom no longer had to look up but a bit down. "I'm not asking you to change. But, you do seem to think rather bad about yourself- if insinuating you're a good man makes you catatonic."

"I'm fine," Tom shot back, a little shortly. Trying to control the thrumming energy and misplaced anger he was feeling. He wanted to hurt something, even himself. Harry didn't get it. He wished he could verbalise such things without rage, or that painful tension in his body. "But year after year will pass, and the year will come when I still haven't fulfilled your vision of me."

"I know what a lack of security feels like," he said quietly. "If that's what you meant. And yes, sure, I'm unhappy with how you've handled all of this. But I am trying to understand where you're coming from and I just want the same from you. I'm not going to leave you because we've fought on something- but at the very least don't hurt people and say it was for me. I would never want that. If not because of them, then for you."

"What... do you mean?" Tom felt very out of depth. Harry was upset still, but was okay with it? He wasn't leaving Tom either, he was still here, wanting to make it work too. Just like Tom wants.

"I mean, you absolute idiot, I don't want you to go to Azkaban for mutilating a fourteen year old!" Harry was gritting his teeth. Tom stared openly. "Not that I think you should've done that to her if you _can_ get away with it- and boy is it lucky we could make a deal- but obviously I care about you. Not her. Again, not caring for her doesn't mean I want her hurt..."

"You care about me?" Tom said wondrously. Then coughed in embarrassment. Harry was flushing red so it was worth it.

"Yeah I- of course I do."

"Of course," Tom echoed. "As I do for you, Harry. Then you'd know, why I... overreacted?" This isn't a confession, Tom chanted to himself. He doesn't know. This is just mutual caring and Harry isn't going to run away in disgust or worse, complete apathy.

"Maybe." Harry said, unawares of the turmoil brewing in his friend, or maybe just unaware of its true cause. "From a certain point of view, maybe. That doesn't make it okay! But I'm trying to see things from your perspective. If you... since you care for me." Tom let his happiness tug at the corners of his mouth. He still felt vindicated in his actions, but there was no true consequence and now Harry was forgiving him. Or trying to. Either way, he said he wouldn't leave him, and he lo- _cared_ for Tom.

It only hurt that he had failed in his mission with Romilda- she was probably aching but now free of any possible charges. Because Harry wanted to protect him.

"Aren't you uncomfortable," Tom said suddenly.

* * *

"Yeah actually my knees are cramping down here-"

"Oh get up." This time Harry ignored the curling in his chest when Tom touched him, and pulled him up as he stood. But he was still quick to let go. The feeling was getting very distracting, and he'd have to go into fixing it. Tom was overwhelmingly and imperfect surely, but he _felt_ perfect, and incredible, and Harry forgot himself with him. It must be that he was jealous of Tom, perfect Prefect Tom Riddle.

That burning feeling in him had gotten so much stronger in the last year or so, to the point where he couldn't stop thinking of him or looking at him. It was sick and awful that he was so clearly envious of Tom- in all his handsomeness and overconfidence and command of a room.

Nothing else could explain his reactions. And now... by now it had progressed to where he couldn't bear to touch him. It made him feel something terribly strange, it was so strong- and he was afraid of what he may do.

He couldn't even hold anger for Tom. It was embarrassing. That- _feeling-_ was so much stronger.

Odd, how far they'd come.

Harry thought nostalgically of their first year. He and Ron had snuck out- this was before the accident happened- and then he'd met Tom. Properly. It was snowing and it was the quietest he'd ever heard the world.

Harry'd seen flurries in Little Whinging, but never enough to coat the ground like a gleaming white blanket. Not like here in Scotland. The first time he'd met Tom Riddle had been his first real snow.

They had _not_ got along.

And like a sign on this terrible, terrible day, it began to snow outside the windowpanes. Ferociously.

Neither boy would see it until morning, as neither would leave the Slytherin House.

* * *

"Tom," Harry said suddenly. He looked nervous.

"What?" Tom bit out. "What is it?"

"I need a drink," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Of alcohol."

"Sure," Tom said carefully. "I have a couple bottles squirrelled away."

"And could we stay in your House?" Harry asked. "I'd like not to be... up there, right now." Tom wanted to say that he was safe now, even if they'd had to strike a deal with Romilda, but it was a harmless request that he liked anyway and he'd already drained much of Harry today. Apparently.

He still didn't understand what he had done wrong, per se, but he knew Harry was angry _for_ him as much as he was at him. Harry wanted Tom not to face consequence. That was a good sign.

Tom definitely could drink in his common room if it made Harry forget his anger at Tom's mostly reasonable actions.

Also, he'd never seen Harry drink, not more like a sip or two and only at the behest of his friends. He's certainly never suggested drinking, and neither had Tom, but now that he'd asked and considering how the day had gone, he couldn't refuse him.

And sometime later, on the floor of the Slytherin common room they sat- well Harry was really laying down and Tom sat- quite drunk. They hadn't been disturbed for a while, the other Slytherins there were younger and off to bed hours ago. When they had passed by, Harry and Tom hid the gin bottles and tonic water with stifled laughter. They couldn't be bad influences, after all. Harry and Tom had skipped dinner as well, so the casual sipping became full blown doziness even quicker.

"You get under my skin," Harry complained. He was referring, for the first time since the alcohol had been introduced, to the fiasco of Tom's anger and the deal with Romilda. Or maybe not. Maybe he just meant, generally.

"Under your skin, that's my neighbourhood," he slurred with little comprehension. He needed to speak normal, ugh he couldn't...

They both only just looked ahead for a minute, words obscured behind alcohol and therefore guarding thoughts. Dangerous thoughts, Tom considered, as he studies the V of Harry's wool school vest. "I'm talking funny, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a whooshing exhale. "It sounds good though." They had left behind the day's details. Still too raw. The alcohol helped. They didn't understand one another any better with the yelling anyways. Achieved nothing.

"Mm." Tom said in reply.

"You always sound good."

"I know." Tom dragged that out of what felt like his very lungs. Harry carried on in a whisper that cracked halfway through-

"God I hate that."

"Mm." Tom already knew that. See, it was the type of feeling he saw a lot on people. He forgave it when Harry wore it, but he didn't think that meant much. He'd let Harry get away with a lot more. Everything _really_ , _Harry you can have everything of me_ , he wanted to say, but that was too dangerous for him to even think, even now with the gin tickling his blood. So he said nothing.

Funny, Tom was meant to be a boy of words. Harry, of actions. It felt like, in that cold night (though they could not feel it so heavy with drink), they'd got it all wrong. They may have gotten it wrong all along because Tom's words had been stuck in his throat for years, and Harry couldn't bear to feel Tom's skin because then- then he'd have to stay.

And it was Tom pushing with fingertips and Harry speaking freely. They may have gotten themselves all mixed up.

"You can't be like this puppet guy," Harry was saying. "Getting everything to go your way..."

"I do like that." Tom admitted. "So, I can at least try."

"It won't end well," Harry retorted. "It almost went very badly today."

Tom shrugged but his shoulders didn't seem to understand the motion anymore. "I could've been worse."

"You're impossible," he sighs. " and really, really hard. Can you change?"

"Don't know," Tom said. Very seriously. "Haven't tried." Harry propped himself up on his elbows to look at Tom, who was sitting upright looking down at his side to him.

Harry has very long lashes, Tom noticed. Dark and effeminate, with those large irises underneath. The light from the torches was burning low now as a dark orange, and with the right amount of squinting he could create the imagery of a halo fuzzily encircling Harry's head. It suited him.

"What's wrong with your, face," Harry said haltingly.

"I'm liking looking at you." Tom says. It came out too fast and rushed, and entirely on accident. He swigged more gin and tonic from the wholly-unsuited-to-it mug to bury the explanation as to what he was imagining looking at the boy.

Because those thoughts were going down a filthy rabbit hole...

It hurt to look at him. He couldn't stop. Tom was afraid even getting what he wants wouldn't soothe that odd ache.

"Do you ever make up stories?" Tom asked. "Just for you, no one else."

"Doesn't everyone?" Harry had let his hand wander to Tom's outer robe, rubbing the edge of the heavy cloth between his fingers. He seemed fascinated. "It's a bit stupid I guess, but people sometimes have trouble with themselves..."

"They need somewhere they feel good." Tom finished.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry flashed a fast smile. "You're saying humans need fantasy to make life bearable."

"No." Tom was really thinking about this. "Humans need fantasy to be, well, human."

"With Santa Claus, or Elder Wands..."

"Yes, that's practice. You have to start out learning to believe the little lies."

"So we can believe the big ones." Harry said wryly. He was no longer fingering the hem of Tom's robe sleeve. His aversive to touch- new, very new- had him retreating again. It made Tom want to throw something, set it on fire or drown it, or both.

"Yes." He finished his gin and tonic. It tasted flat. "Justice, mercy, duty, that sort of thing."

"Well they're not the same at all!" Harry incredulously turned his head to face Tom's profile, his aquiline nose and razor fine jaw, eyes blinking owlishly.

"You think so? Then take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder, and sieve it through the finest sieve... and then show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy." Tom shook his head.

"And yet you try to act as if there is some ideal order in the world. As if there is some, _rightness_ , in the universe, by which it may be judged."

Harry digested that by taking a bigger swig from the gin bottle. Tom can't remember anymore at what point he had foregone the tonic to mix. Frankly he couldn't really recall anything but the person next to him. He remembers Harry, and that Harry is still here. Harry rubs his throat, viciously fusses up his hair, and Tom watches with envy the hand he wished was his instead. Harry looked at him again, putting the bottle down.

"But people have got to be believe that. Or what's the point?"

Tom didn't care much for the existentialist, philosophical turn they had taken. Not anymore.

More importantly Tom was starting to think he didn't have a very good alcohol tolerance. because when he pushed Harry's shoulder into the hewn stone floor he didn't even taste the gin.

He kept his eyes open as long as he could until Harry moved against him too, much slower. And Tom smiled into his mouth. Kissing Harry simply tasted warm and numb and maybe a bit like fear or thrill- but the good kind. But Tom was drunk and when you're drunk, every feeling is the good kind.

That's how you make mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone knows what the discussion Harry and Tom have here at the end refers to, tell me so we can bond over it xx
> 
> Also I use the space-dash things to separate the change between Harry and Tom's perspectives, I feel like that's been not toooo hard to follow, I hope not!


	3. childhood never really leaves you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hospitalised- still am- to account for the delay... laptop's been sitting cozy at my flat since the 28th. Had my roommate, who'd been off at her folks, drop round and pick me up some things for my hospital stay. So I'm back online, and the final instalment will be up very quick I'd think. 
> 
> Cheers to the crappiest way I've rung in the New Year- in a hospital bed! At least they're drugging me fairly consistently. I am very upset I haven't been able to do much of anything since being booked in, including updating on here. If it's any consolation for readers, I'm in lots of pain. Also- I need to start saving my drafts on ao3 and not word doc. Old-school lmao xx. I said ~holiday ficlet~ and it's been drawn out far too long...
> 
> Also seems to be like these chapters can't help but be long, sorry!! The final chapter is mad feels and drama, I'm excited to wrap it up nice.

When Harry woke up he had an awful stiffness in his neck and it twinged through and down his back as well. Blearily blinking open his eyes, he saw the soft green trimmings of a Slytherin dorm room.

This was not his dormitory.

Ugh. 

What happened? Had he stayed with Tom? It was the hols after all, that's not so unlikely, and he couldn't imagine hosting a sleepover in Slytherin with anyone else.

He rolled onto his back and tried to smooth out the crick in his neck to no avail, stretching his hands over his head and hitting- 

Harry yanked his head to the left side, the side he'd had his back to. A disgruntled looking Tom was squinting at him.

"Did you have to hit me the face?" He groaned. "Sweet morning calls. Appreciated."

"Tom," Harry breathed, his head racing as the confusing, awful events of yesterday ran through his mind. "Romilda," he groaned.

"Don't be throwing around others' names in my bed, _Harry_ ," Tom stressed. "This is my safe space."

"You fucked up. On- on so many different counts- I-" Tom sat up, and ran a hand through his hair. Harry knew it was more out of self-consciousness about his morning looks than nervousness. 

"I could've done things differently," he admitted. And that was as far as Tom would go, Harry knew. It was pointless, not to mention impossible, to push him further. Besides, Harry thought wryly. He adored him all the same.

Smacking his lips together and rolling a tongue over his teeth, he also recalled the alcohol he'd requested. It left his mouth and throat fuzzy, and his head even more so. Tom's toned arm was pressed against his side- his leg was too- they were very close to one another. Harry was trying not to jump away from the proximity- the sort of closeness he'd been avoiding from Tom. He had been so focused on their touching he had no time to react when Tom lifted his chin with his opposite hand to meet Harry's eyes with a lazy smile.

Those weren't butterflies, Harry said firmly. I feel ill from last night- or stunned by how perfect Tom looks even now- even first thing after drinking with his face drawn pale- was Tom leaning in?

* * *

In fact, Tom was. He wanted to be absolutely no where else at that moment. He had Harry, hand under his chin, Cupid's bow so close.

He bent his head in and closed his eyes and leaned to kiss him again, just like they'd done late into the night.

Tom met a hand, pushing violently to his face. He jerked back and thumped onto the floor, legs pulling the blankets with. He stumbled to his feet unsteadily. Harry was cowering on the bed still. Tom frowned and reached out a hand.

"Is everything alright? Did I do- "

"I don't want it!" Harry shouted, his hands up as if expecting a blow. "Get off of me!" Tom dropped his hands to his waist, ramrod straight.

"I'm not touching you," Tom said, trying not to shout and trying not to panic. "I'm not anywhere near touching you-"

"I- don't- want- it-" Harry didn't even seem to be listening, he was so worked up.

"Merlin what's wrong with you?!" Tom raised his voice. Harry stopped repeating those damning phrases but all the same he kept his arms wrapped around his self, cringing, eyes squeezed shut and shaking his head minuscule amounts. "Harry," he said softer. "Harry what's wrong? What's happening? Merlin snap out of it- what in the world is wrong, Harry?"

"I'm s-sorry," he hiccupped. "I d-didn't m-mean to, Tom. Please I'm sorry."

"Harry what's going on?" He ground out more seriously. Harry looked up and opened his eyes, his knuckles white with how hard he was gripping his knees closed.

"I'm so- disgusting," he choked out. "I'm sorry." Tom felt the incredulity on his own face, uncontrollable. Something very weird was happening. "I've taken ad _vantage_ \- Tom I didn't mean to, I was drinking, I'm so sorry- I'm a-awf-ful." He shuddered and looked away from Tom's face, like it was too painful.

"Taken advantage." Tom said slowly. "Of... me?"

"Y-es," Harry hiccuped. "I'm- you can't- I'm disgusting!" His voice was getting higher. Tom's eyes were still wide and his jaw was slack with the difficulty of processing whatever the hell Harry was saying.

"Harry you can't take advantage of a willing partner," he soothed. "I just tried to kiss you-" he swallowed at the open admission of his intents, "-and you... reacted. I don't understand what you're getting at- last night was fine? Remember? We kissed... quite a bit." He smiled and let his eyes drop suggestively. This had the opposite effect on Harry who's shoulders rose even higher, like protection.

"Oh Merlin," he moaned.

"Not my name," Tom said cheekily, although he didn't think this scenario called for humour. "Harry what's gone wrong? Tell me. You can always tell me things, hm?"

"I-I-" His eyes darted nervously around the room, never landing on Tom, avoiding him, leaning away from him. It made Tom's blood boil again. He wanted to make Harry be like he was when he opened his mouth against Tom's last night, when he _gave in_. "I've wronged you. I don't want this, Tom. I can't." Harry jolted like he'd been shocked and he leapt out of the bed onto the opposite side. Tom realised what he was going to do a second too late.

"Harry," he warned. "don't- come on you must remember last night-" Harry looked positively frightened at that.

"Yes, you've jogged my memory," he said. And then he bolted out the dorm door, likely down the stairs and out of the common room as well.

"Well," Tom said to the empty room. "Bright side is, that couldn't have gone worse."

* * *

Harry sucked in air but it never felt like enough. He was the worst friend ever- worst _person_ \- god how could he have? To Tom? Of all people- how did it even work on him?

Now Harry'sthe one who's gone and ruined everything.

_"Harry."_

_It was, of all people, Piers Polkiss who had snuck up on him. He had a ratty face that matched his disposition. Harry had always liked him least of Dudley's gang._

_"Piers," he eyed him suspiciously. "Haven't got the gang to back you up, I see."_

_"Ha! Reckon I can still getcha if you run. Your cousin's too slow anyways." He shrugged. "Besides. Just coming round to say hello. Can't I do that Harry?"_

_"I haven't got any money."_

_"Don't need any." Piers rolled his wiry shoulders. Harry knew that although the other boy was gangly and thin, from experience he knew him to be stronger than Harry. And he didn't understand what game Piers Polkiss was up to today. "Just saying hello. Something made me want to come say hi." He scuffed the lawn with his shiny new sneaker. "Was bored."_

_That wouldn't be the last time Piers sought him out._

_Now, when the gang was around and Dudley was calling the shots the limber boy was back to his job of catching Harry, as Piers was the fastest. But when they were gone, or too tired of torturing Harry, Piers would creep up on him, with little to say and a shifty expression. Harry, against his better judgement, became accustomed to this._

_It began to escalate the summer after Harry's third year._

_Piers had kissed him before, mind you. Weird and quick, Harry maybe ignored it or attributed it to some sort of power play. They were young and it didn't seem any more nefarious than the usual crap. He was degrading and would kiss his head or cheek in a way that was anything but sweet- and slap him around a bit. Call him a dirty fag. It was the sort of shit that Dudley's friends would probably find funny. Looking back if Harry thought about it- they probably never knew. And Harry certainly wasn't going to tell anyone._

_Maybe that's why Piers picked him._

_But anyways, the summer after third year, Piers had gotten taller and even more wiry. His ratty face had an even meaner, tougher look to it, with his too-close eyes and arrow thin nose._

_He got Harry in an alleyway, and the gang was nowhere around. So while Harry was wary, he was less nervous than he normally would be. This time Piers pinned him to the dumpster, furtively looking around (likely for witnesses which was pretty standard if Harry was in for a beating). But he didn't hit Harry around. He kissed him, right on the mouth, fat tongue pressing in and tasting distinctly of cigarettes._

_Third year was the year Harry considered he might like handsome boys instead of pretty girls, but suddenly he wanted to never be kissed again. Harry gasped for air when Piers let up, gagging at the foreign taste of smoke. He was firmly pressed against Harry and something was happening on his lower half that Harry did NOT want to think about._

_"Look what you made me do," he snarled. "Fucking asking- no- begging for it." He thrust his wiry hand against Harry's throat roughly and it made him gurgle and his eyes water involuntarily._

_Harry had an unexpected saviour that time._

_"Oy, Piers, you round mate? You dipped out the store so quick. That Moores kid off Wisteria's got new sneakers- bloody nice ones. Remember Moores? Fucking weed, we can take 'im. Bored of the records anyway." Piers frowned and slowly let go of Harry's throat. His eyes promised swift retribution if Harry even thought of sharing what had just happened._

_Harry was actually just trying to process it._

_"Yeah, I'm here," he called out, loping out from behind the dumpster. "Took a piss."_

_"Whatever," came the snorted answer. It sounded like Gordon, Harry registered faintly. Beefcake of a boy- but much more muscled than Dudley._

_The next time Piers caught up with Harry, alone, it got even worse. But this_ _attention, this behaviour, had been so gradual that Harry did not do much other than accept it. It was like Harry Hunting or chores. Inevitable. Ordinary._

_"Fuck's sake stop moving," Piers mumbled into his neck before he bit it, clenching his teeth in while rutting against Harry's stomach. Both the wall Harry was up against and Piers' body were unshakeable._

_Inescapable._

_Harry kicked out, knee bent unnaturally to the side as Piers was slotted between his legs, trying to hit something. What the hell was wrong with Piers?_

_But slowly the insidious thought began to creep in. . . he began to think 'what was wrong with him?' To incite such attention, violence, and hounding there must be something devious about Harry himself._

_And Piers re-enforced it. Constantly. Harry was 'begging for it', 'pleading with his eyes'- the word seduction would crop up often. He called Harry a boarding school sort, which unbeknownst to Harry was a way of calling him a poof._

_The worst time was summer last, a week or so before the trip to King's Cross._

_He'd got into the house while Petunia and Vernon were away... Dudley had a little drinking sesh with the lads. Harry could hear them downstairs over the telly, laughing and screaming with delight while Harry tried to muffle his sobs and shame._

_He cried a lot after, up until school started. Then he'd save the tears for the occasional shower-cry combination. Otherwise he'd only try and forget about his... affliction. What he made people do._

_It was awful and haunting. Piers was his first kiss. The only person he's kissed (and done more). Harry was a sick, revolting person to make someone do the things Piers did to him--_

But now he'd kissed Tom too. He'd _ruined_ Tom too. He needed to get out. Go somewhere. He never normally had to think about Piers. He sequestered that away. He also was pushing down the betrayal that Tom would be anything like Piers- that he would be sucked in by Harry's deviousness. Kissing and all the sexual stuff never meant anything good for or about Harry.

Deep down he didn't want Tom to hurt him too.

Oh! Hogsmeade! He could go to the village through the passageway.

The morning was still breaking, but he was sure the Three Broomsticks would have holiday patrons all the same.

* * *

He thumbed his quill, the feather was a gorgeous grey plume, and resolutely dipped it into the last of his ink. He always ran out around the holidays, and made sure to order the next batch from Hogsmeade. Cheaper than Diagon if you know where to go.

_...missed bliss,_

_a poison of any other taste is just as deadly,_

_yet still I lay and crave only your medley._

Tom left it at that, because he had little else to say. Besides, he had loads of poems on Harry in his journals. Pointless, endless poems for the stupid boy who didn't want to kiss him anymore. Even sitting in his common room, let alone his dormitory, was a bitter reminder of Tom's own lack of appeal.

What an awful morning. What did he do wrong? Everything had been perfect, really. Harry kissed him back! Seemed happy about it too. They did quite a lot of close-quarters kissing last night, until the taste of gin was long gone and the cold of the dungeons was obsolete. He would have to seek Harry out after he's had time to cool down.

* * *

Hogsmeade was glittering, the snow hard and compact by an icy morning. It was beautiful as always, but it also reminded him of Tom immediately. They used to sneak out to the village in second year all the time, most memorably on Tom's birthday when Headmaster Dumbledore _himself_ caught them in one of the snowy lanes of the town, all red faced from the thrill and the cold.

He couldn't shake his swirling thoughts, and didn't even notice the figure of Romilda Vane down the side street opposite before the Three Broomsticks- only two shops down.

When she stepped into view on the main road he physically jolted back, so unaware.

"How're you here?" He blurted.

"Oh like you're the only one who can sneak out of the castle- it's practically the norm, Harry." She said pointedly. "Last minute presents shopping, because I'm a forgetful sod."

"Er, right," He said with a step back. "See you later-"

"Oh, keep running and running." She giggled. "I don't know what's wrong with you, you don't even bugger Riddle, unless secretly you _do_ then _excuse_ me, and everyone fancies him even though he fancies you-" Harry's head whirled to follow what she was confessing- "and honestly why not just give it a go with me?"

"You tried to drug me, Romilda." Harry said gently. She was acting very thick. "Nearly twice, might I add. That's illegal. Therefore, um, wrong? I can't tell if you're overconfident or insecure in your abilities to woo, honestly."

"Oh you're a smartass, aren't you!" She bit her lip, and ducked her head bashfully. "Listen I'm letting Riddle off easy, and I know you're friends so..."

"And I'm still not going anywhere with you," he crinkled his nose, "or doing anything with you. Frankly Tom shouldn't have done that, y'know cursing you- at least not before sending a plea to the Headmaster over what you've been up to. I know that. But that means you should piss off either way."

"Why don't you want to at least get off with someone?" Romilda huffed at him, like a little angry dragon. Harry leaned away, just to be safe. "I mean if you're too good for perfect Prefect Riddle-"

"He does _not_ fancy me, Romilda," Harry ignored how his voice went abnormally high at even the thought of that being a possibility. "So _leave it_ , and leave me alone."

"Harry," she purred. "Come-"

"Good Lord," he said stoutly, and marched past her down the main street. He couldn't deal with that right now. Especially not her insinuating _that_ about Tom- not after this morning- not after last night- god Harry was a mess.

He needed another drink, and stoutly ignored how that reminded him of last night. He focused instead on how drinking does make you, in the moment, forget. The morning after was the tomorrow Harry's problem.

He made a beeline for the welcoming, warm din of the Three Broomsticks just a little up and across the way. He could hear already the straining melody of some band underneath raucous laughter, whoops, and clapping. The sound of glass clinking (and perhaps a bit of smashing) was even cleaner than the crunch of the snow under his boots.

He was a few rounds in, keeping to himself in misery until the lunch hour gave way to a larger crowd of hungry groups. He got a most funny surprise.

"Are you a Lethifold?" A suave young man said. His voice was instantly recognisable.

"Don't even finish that, Pucey." Harry griped into his glass. He was alternating mead with cocktails and he couldn't make up his mind. It was all poison anyway, right?

"Oh hoy, Harry!" Adrian Pucey came around from behind his booth to get a look at his face. "Should've recognised your bedhead from a mile away. You've got a very attractive back, may I say."

"Or you just flirt with everything that breathes." He countered.

"Well," he sat down with a sly look. "Do you know why they call me Head Boy?"

"Because you hand in your homework on time and you suck up to the staff?" Harry suggested.

"Spoil all my good lines, why don't you," he grouched. "But I'll have you know you weren't too off point with that 'sucking' tidbit."

"Those your best ones?" Harry said skeptically, ignoring the insinuation. "Really?" Pucey groaned dramatically as Madam Rosmerta sashayed up to the table.

"Anything for you sweetheart?" 

"Vodka cranberry please, lovely. I'm watching the calories." Pucey patted his nonexistent stomach. Harry would bet money it was pure muscle.

"Sure thing baby," she said with a raised brow but a sweet smile, and sashayed away.

"Shame I had to give up Quidditch Captain for Head Boy, though. At the very least I miss flying against you. I suppose I'll have to kick your ass on a one-on-one someday instead of with a team."

"Dream on." Harry smiled despite his current depression. "I could out-fly you blindfolded."

"Ouch," Adrian mocking grabbed his left breast. "Show some respect for your elders."

"You're a seventh year, not Neville's gran."

"And Head Boy."

"And Head Boy," Harry conceded. 

"You like Head Boys anyhow, your boy Riddle is definitely gunning for it."

"Er yeah, probably." God Harry didn't want to talk about Tom. When did he finish his cocktail? Oh, Rosmerta was back anyways.

"Here chubby, your vodka-cranberry. Refill for you, baby?"

"Yes, please," Harry said gratefully. Only Madam Rosmerta could get away with a fond 'chubby'. Everything she said just sounded hearty and warm. Like the establishment she worked in. She smiled at him with kind eyes, despite watching him and helping him drink his way through the better part of the morning.

"Don't want to talk about Riddle?" Pucey said appraisingly. "Two of you are thick as thieves. Had a lover's spat?"

"We're not- never mind. You're right that I don't want to talk about Tom." 

"Ah, you're still in denial while Riddle wallows in self pity. Story for the ages."

"What're you even doing here?" Harry deflected back to Adrian Pucey. "No upper years in your house have stayed, and I'd remember you."

"Flattered you'd remember me. And hey, it's the hols," he said affronted. "What- I can't go to the pub?" But he leaned in. "And they always wand on Diagon." Harry snorted. It was true, wand checks were custom on most Diagon Alley locales. But if you just slip into Knockturn... the risks equate to a lot less of that security nonsense like identification. Just know how to jinx your way out of something if you head down there!

"Weird that, considering Hogsmeade is by a school and all."

"They're commiserating with us students then." Pucey smiled. "And it's good revenue."

The lunch hour slipped by quickly and the rowdier crowds had the wireless pumping out some funky tune. The subject of Tom was completely dropped, and Pucey was pretty good at helping Harry forget it all. The families had absconded and the drinkers began multiplying for the approaching afternoon. Adrian seemed to have entirely abandoned his gaggle of drunk friends for Harry's company. They had never talked much, as Pucey was a seventh year Slytherin, but they'd played Quidditch against each other for ages. 

He was pretty good company. Apparently liked dancing too.

"You should be dancing," he half shouted over the din of the inn.

"Not that drunk!" Harry shouted heartily back. 

"Oh come on then," Pucey ran a hand through his hair habitually. "if you're half as good on the floor as you are on a broom, you'll have a blast." Harry sucked his lips in and bit them, feeling next to nothing- just a fuzzy, rubbery, alien sensation. His mouth didn't even feel attached to him but he heard a voice that sounded like his say,

"Okay, alright, I can _dance._ It's like flying, you say? Then I can dance." The voice that sounded like his was suspiciously slurry.

Adrian and him were stumbling about in a fashion that probably barely resembled dancing, but it was roaring good fun. The wireless was loud and catchy, something about Lethifolds and love, which gave Adrian and Harry a good laugh. 

"Stole your lines from a song, you prat!" Harry accused. Adrian didn't try to defend himself and they choked on laughter, even though it wasn't really that funny. It just was the the height of comedy right that moment for some reason.

And when a slower, crooning melody came on, it wasn't awkward at all to sway to the beat together. Harry was having a good time, and he didn't have that nervous aversion to normal touch like he'd begun to develop with Tom.

"Harry," Adrian murmured over a slow Warbeck tune, "want to take this elsewhere?"

"Hm," he said absent-mindedly, focused on their shifting feet. Adrian's shoes were quite shiny.

When he looked up, the third man in Harry's life kissed him. He pushed himself out of Pucey's arms and swallowed a scream.

"Sorry," Pucey said with a shit-eating grin. Harry was feeling horrified and maybe that was leaking onto his face because Adrian became a lot more apologetic, losing the smile. "Crap, I'm sorry Harry- I didn't mean anything. We were just having fun, alright? No stress."

"Don't," he managed to croak out, cringing.

Adrian Pucey was a really nice guy, Harry thought. A good person. So clearly it must've been Harry fucking him up- making him want Harry like that. It was twisted. Harry was the worst person- and he fled out the back door and prayed Pucey wouldn't follow. Wouldn't get sucked in any further. "Oh god," he choked. He couldn't make a scene inside by throwing a fit like he humiliatingly did with Tom. But Tom would understand once he was free of Harry's mysterious influence that made him sexually appealing.

He didn't see Madam Rosmerta follow him out.

"Baby are you okay?" Harry was rocking his head forward and backward, revelling in the feeling of matching up with the shaky seasick motion his body was under the influence of.

"I've done it again." He murmured, nausea rising over something other than the copious cocktails he'd had. "I'm a screw up."

"A little drunk perhaps," she laughed like soft bells chiming. "but you're not a screw up, baby."

"No? I'm not?" He said hopefully. "No I am," he said despairingly.

"No, you ain't. People make mistakes all the time- they _screw up_ \- but none of that's permanent. You can't undo things, but you can always change! Never too late for that babes. I've made many screw ups, not the least of them being kissing a handsome lad on a night out."

"You saw that, huh? I didn't want to," Harry admitted. "I didn't kiss Pucey back, there's-" He lowered his voice. "There's someone else I want to kiss, I think." The madam snorted.

"There always is, isn't there?"

"Is there?"

"Well, tell you what, it's not on you babes. You at least know what you want."

"You don't get it," he groaned. "I can't have the one I want. I'll muck him up. It's like- I mess people up. They think they want to kiss me and stuff- they don't. They don't know what they're even doing. Like the 'handsome lad' inside. I screwed his head all up. Tom- the one I want- he's brilliant but I managed to screw with him too. He doesn't want me, not really. I did something to him."

"Well that's stupid, babes. Can't be that you did. Unless," she gave him a shifty eye. "You're not doing no Imperius or Befuddlement Draughts or love potion crap, are ya babes?"

"No," Harry wheezed out. "No, definitely not!"

"Didn't think so. Don't look the type, too much of a conscious on ya... so why you think anyone wouldn't want to kiss you?"

"Why would they..." he trailed off weakly.

"Why _wouldn't_ they?" Rosmerta pressed. "Babes you've got to think differently. Even if you don't want that particularly handsome boy-o back inside, then go for the laddie you do want. And even if you do 'muck him up', the thing about relationships is this: it takes more than one person to be in it. It's not all on you, unless you think this boy of yours is incapable of taking responsibility for 'is actions."

"Don't reckon he wants a relationship." Tom's face swam before his eyes, impossibly close. "Er, that is, more than sexual stuff. That's the area where I get people's heads all mucked up. We're perfectly good friends otherwise."

"Ahh, that's the sort then, a one-nighter man is he? Well, make it clear where you stand. Stand up for yourself baby, if you want _more_ or _less_ or what _ever_ , just make it clear."

"I'm not worth a relationship, 'specially not for him. And I wouldn't trash our friendship for anything else- it's proof you see, that he wants me like _that_ , that I must've done something. Something to screw with him. Tom's not the sort you see. He really isn't- but suddenly he comes onto me?"

"But you sound surprised."

"I am."

"Usually, and I'm sure of this, usually when people try and lead others on, it's intentional. You can't have done anything differently if you were just being yourself, so why beat yourself up?"

"I've done it before. It was- I didn't want it, you know? And he didn't- he didn't stop. Because I made him do it, even though I said no. So many-" Harry's voice cracked. "-so m _an_ y times." Rosmerta didn't say anything to this for a good minute. Maybe longer, or shorter, Harry was a little too tipsy to tell the time too well. And he'd never had a good internal clock.

"That's not quite right." She said finally. "That sounds like- well. If you didn't want it- and he, um, did it anyway... that's nonconsensual, see? And he's the one in the wrong. No matter what he said to make you think it was your fault- oh no babes it wasn't!" She hugged him suddenly and it was warm, safe. Harry had been tearing up he realised. He didn't know why. He'd never actually talked about Piers, he thinks to himself. Too ashamed. He felt very exposed and pathetic and swallowed his sniffles until they went ahead. She didn't let go until he stopped

And then, quieter. "So, Tom?" Harry sighed in defeat. She'd connected the dots fast. He shouldn't have let the name slip, as Tom was memorable despite the common name.

"Yeah. Tom Riddle. You know him?"

"Well, that's a _very_ handsome young man. He's spent a lot of time round this parts, time spent with you. Course I've seen you two together before, baby! Oh, for years now, wandering about the village..." Rosmerta continued with utmost seriousness and care. "Pompous laddie though. I've served for your friend Tom and his name dropping boys. Careful with those sort. Surprised I've met someone like you being buddy-buddy with someone like him. You've got a more of a soft soul, _no_ , a soft touch." She pushed his hair behind his ear fondly.

"Out of my league, he is." Harry muttered. "Don't know why I'm even thinking of it- I'm diseased! Untouchable."

"Other way around if anything, you're a real good person babes. He's a little too posh boy for my tastes." Harry flushed, almost embarrassed _for_ Tom. "And babes, there is nothing wrong with you. But I'd suggest talking about that man, who wouldn't stop, to someone you trust. That's not on you, babes." They sat a moment longer in the twinkling afternoon light.

"Listen, I've got to head back in unfortunately, this was an enormously long smoke break. Good luck with love, it's a tricky mistress. And think about it- it wasn't your fault. None of it. And damn that man, whoever that was who made you think you did anything wrong."

She patted Harry's leg with enough gusto that he felt it on his tingly-numb extremity. He rubbed his swirling stomach from day drinking and watched as the sun sunk further into a hazy white-grey horizon. It was barely ten past four according to a quick tempus charm- but as the wispy sky swallowed more and more light, he knew he had to head back to Hogwarts right about now if he wanted to escape the coming night.

~

He was deep in thought and that was hard with mead swimming in his blood, so he ran unsurprisingly right into the giant fir tree in the corridor.

Wait- a tree in the corridor?

Hagrid, the resident groundskeeper, peeked out from behind it. Ah.

"Hello," Harry said cheerfully. He's always liked Hagrid. "Looks awful heavy. That's the tree isn't it?" Each year a final tree would join the others lining the far walls of the Great Hall- it was put up and decorated by the staff, together, on Christmas Eve. Students that were on over break often participated, particularly the younger years that were missing home.

"Right yer are, Harry, this 'ere the Eve tree. Yeh coming to hang up summat with the rest o' us, come Christmas?" 

"Like always." Hagrid's kind face crinkled around the eyes, indicating a hidden smile in that bushy beard. "See you round Hagrid, sorry I wasn't looking out!"

"No worries, 'Arry," and he shuffled towards the Great Hall while Harry decided to head up to his common room. Wasn't like he had anywhere better to be. He was stopped once more, but not by fir trees and thankfully not Romilda- but worse actually, 

_Tom._

"Harry, hello." he said. It sounded friendly, but Harry wasn't going to assume anything. Talking with Madam Rosmerta opened him up to a lot of feelings around sexual relationships, and really relationships overall and his past with them, but it was all too fresh. And he felt the drinks still. And he was still _dealing with Piers dammit_ even as Tom stood in front of him.

It was all very confusing.

"I've been looking for you all over," he continued oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil. Or maybe he saw it on his face and that's why his words came out so rushed. "I was worried when I couldn't find you. We left things- wrong. I don't know what happened."

"Nothing Tom, nothing happened." He was feeling sicker now. Harry couldn't think about this right now- it was all too much.

"I think it's natural to progress like this," he pleaded. "to become something a little more. It's harmless, Harry. I think, no- I _know_ that it's a good idea. It's right, it feels right, you have to see that. You wanted it last night- you did! And to- "

"No, Tom!" Harry blurted out and cut him off. He wanted this talking to stop. He wanted to think, somewhere away from Tom where it wasn't so hard to think. "I don't think it's a _good idea_ for us."

* * *

"If you think so, fine. You're wrong." Tom said quickly. His chest felt heavy. He didn't know how to salvage this. Harry didn't want him. 

"Merlin, you're being difficult." Harry shrugged tiredly as if he hadn't just outright rejected Tom to his face. "But I am, too. Maybe I should've shoved you off yesterday and that would have been clearer. I'm sorry I just- I'd want something different, you know?"

"I-" Tom faltered. "Can I give you what you want- no wait- no, no, no... I can. I can Harry, just- tell me what to do-"

"Oh Tom," Harry looked surprised. "I'd never do that to you. I can't make you act or be any other way than you are. And besides, I like you how you are. I do... I just..." 

The silence was awful as neither knew what to say anymore. Neither one knew where they should go now. Not entirely true- as it was, Harry naturally fled.

* * *

Hogsmeade felt even colder than it had last Saturday.

Christmas was fast approaching, and more importantly Yule celebrations fell that very evening. It was December twenty first, nineteen ninety-five, and tomorrow was the solstice. Locals and visitors far and wide were getting their drink on early in the fading light. It was barely three in the afternoon, but the sky's color was beginning to darken from a light grey to a more somber tone. The sun hadn't come out today.

Harry was hastily reapplying a faint warming charm, something to stop the bitter wind from being unbearable, but he knew he would not be able to resist much longer the warm, homely glow of The Three Broomsticks. For now, however, he would enjoy his blood pop outside, watching a small ring of children try and levitate snowballs- then give up and return to their snowman building.

The tallest one- a boy without a hat on even though his mother surely warned him to wear it- was having the most success. He could make the tallest snowman, and was fastening dull stones from the cobble street in place for eyes. This was all very well and good, however...

Harry still hadn't spoken to Tom.

Tom who was coming out of a narrow shop with red shingles. Harry stood his ground when the Slytherin spotted him and steadily approached. He'd spent the last week hiding from his friend at every turn, with the help of the twins' property.

* * *

"I was getting ink refills." Tom said with his scarf nearly in his mouth. He didn't imagine he looked too dignified.

"Ah... good, that is."

"I missed you," he said, to his embarrassment. How did that come out so damn fast?

"I- me too." Harry shoved his hands into his pockets without looking at Tom. Merlin, he had no idea where he and Harry stood. It's been a week of miserable silence for Tom, wondering how Harry was so good at evading him. He obviously didn't know about the nifty map that Harry was borrowing from the twins, and religiously studying for Tom's movements.

Before he could lose momentum, he blurted,

"Broomsticks and some butter beer? Non-alcoholic, of course. Think we've done enough of that for now." Merlin, why did he _immediately bring it up_? He was a bleeding idiot, for crying out loud.

"Er, no," Harry said hurriedly. "Not Broomsticks. I, um, no. But, er, somewhere else?" Tom's heart soared. Were they good? Was it better now?

"Alright," Tom said, burying his curiosity to that refusal for later. "Somewhere quieter then? I know a place perfect for that." As they passed the Three Broomsticks, he saw Harry shoot furtive glances at it from the corner of his eye.

Interesting.

They broke out from the town centre and towards the more sparsely decorated landscape of the residential area with land attached. Marching along they came to the swinging overhead sign made of wood that was inscribed with a fat pig with tusks that said: Hog's Head.

Tom pushed the heavy door open. Only one other customer, out cold.

"Come back once yeh of age," the scraggly bearded bartender called out.

"Haven't come for alcohol," Tom tried not to look annoyed. The man had never bothered about age with him before, but perhaps Harry's height and big, innocent eyes made Tom look younger by association. The other times he'd been here, to be fair, he'd been with the seventh years from the Creatures club. A gristly bunch.

"Oh brilliant," the bartender muttered. "You're sober, well tha's all right then."

"Right," Tom said shortly. "So we'd like to stay here."

"Mm. Alright. Yeh sure you kids don't want a spot o' mead?" He offered gruffly. 

"You clearly know we're students?" Tom looked at him, baffled. This man was absurd every time without fail. Granted he'd only been here twice before, but the Hog's Head was always in some way funny. But _quiet_. Everywhere else, around this time of year especially, was cheery and loud. Wizard-folk loved to celebrate everything and anything. But Yule was tomorrow and that was incredibly important of a holiday for even the most grouchy of wizard kind.

"An' I'm not kickin' yeh out, boys! So do yeh want a spot o' mead?" 

"No, thanks," Harry said with a terse smile. "Lemonade's fine." The grizzly bartender looked at them like _they_ were the weird ones, but went behind the bar presumably to fetch a couple alcohol-free drinks anyway.

When he sloshed them down- the color a dizzying, fizzing green, Harry thanked him. "Thanks, sir." Tom thought about how lemonade was typically yellow or clear but let it be. Magic, after all.

"Aberforth," he grunted. "Or Abe. None of that 'sir' shite. Don' get off on it." He ambled away. Harry gave Tom a look, who dipped his head a bit in concession.

"Odd place, I know. But private and quiet." 

It devolved too quickly between them as Abe disappeared into the back. They were completely alone in the pub, barring the wizard that looked downright unconscious- if not dead- in the corner.

"It's just- I wasn't trying to push for-" Tom back-pedalled. Harry clearly was uncomfortable at the idea of commitment. "I'm sorry if I overstepped, Harry. I just knew what I wanted, thought I knew what you wanted for once, but no is no. I understand that! I can't lose you entirely though, right?"

"I was thinking the same," Harry smiled but it looked worse-for-wear. "It's a bit of an adjustment now, is all. I mean, for me, a friends relationship is better than none at all." His cheeks seemed to redden at this and Tom wanted to reach out and feel it. 

"Of course." But the emphasis of 'relationship' felt odd to Tom. He wanted to further their relationship, couldn't Harry see that was what it was? He must. He just didn't want Tom that way. "I won't push to change it, if that means we lose our relation entirely." _No matter how much my blood burns for you and my mind yearns for you,_ he added silently.

The rest of night was stilted conversation and watery lemonade. True to the plan they stayed sober. Tom- mostly for self control, and Harry because he was fed up with his drinking-version of decision making. He might've even took Tom up on his offer of a sexual nature, kissing and such, for the pull between them was undeniable with inhibitions lowered.

And then maybe after Tom professed his undying affections in the morning afterglow, they would've figured out this mess a whole lot sooner.

But that isn't how the story goes, and the truth is alluded to vaguely, evading them some while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tom and Harry continue being difficult gremlins for each other but we've learned Harry's got some psychological demons stemming from real traumatic grooming and assault, folks. Kids can be asses too, even more so because they don't think of consequences. Piers, you little rat!! This will be a hurdle for Harry and his measuring of self worth, huh? And to think, we haven't even touched on Tom's issues. I mean besides his limited understanding of remorse or being 'wrong', Merlin forbid. 
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> Tom gets uncomfortably depressing but it's-poetic-so-it's-not-sad (Tom's words not mine), Romilda makes one more dive for Harry, a surprise guest gives Harry some more closure, and honesty makes an appearance. The tale of Tom and Harry's inevitable romance will come to a temporary close as the New Year rings in- in this universe. From Christmas to New Years, these lads got too much miscommunication going on for it to continue.


End file.
